by Kira Blakely
It sounded like some sort of futuristic medicine, like something done in a sci-fi movie or something. It was also one hell of a goal. He said, “I thought they had already found out that people in comas could talk or something.”
“There’s been lots of research done, mostly on people who woke up from short-term comas, but nothing much has ever helped people in long-term comas, and those are the people I most want to help. I feel like if we can just get one long-term patient back, just one, we might be able to figure out a way to get back people who are in short-term comas faster, before physical and mental disabilities and changes occur.”
“You want to sort of record their journey back so you can outline the steps in a way.” He wondered if such a thing would ever be possible. It seemed too far-fetched, but it was clear that she believed it was possible.
“Exactly. Like I said, if we had some kind of map, we could know where they were, no matter how long or short a time they have been in a coma.”
He said, “I have to tell you, you just impressed the hell out of me.”
She said, “You do know your program might just be a part of it. If we ever figure out how to do it, that is.”
He was astonished by that thought. He had not considered that he would be a part of something so monumental until she had said so, but once he did, a huge sense of wanting to be a part of that filled him.
He had never been a part of anything that was life changing, and the idea that he could be had never occurred to him. Filled with that sense of awe he said, “Thanks for letting me be a part of it. I had no idea…I thought maybe you were doing cancer research or something.”
“Oh, there are lots of talented people already working in that field.” She let her hand brush against his, and he took her fingers into his. Her fingers were slightly chilled, and he curled his around hers, a sense of protectiveness erupting in him as he did so.
“Not so many in the one you are in, huh? Is it competitive? I mean, is it like a race between the people who are working on a cure?”
“Oh, yeah.” She walked a little faster as the wind began to blow harder, and he adjusted his pace to keep up with her. “Especially if the competition is a big corporation. They have all the money and investors in the world, you know. They also want to hold the patents, because that would mean that they gain the most, money wise.”
“I read something the other day about medication costs going up again.” He had skimmed across that article in truth. He was young and healthy, and he had no need for the meds that the article had been discussing, but now he wished he had paid more attention.
Hope snorted. “The CEOs all want to show massive profit. It is how they get paid the money they do. They are basically soulless sharks, skimming the blood off the water. In the case of the pharma CEOs, it is the real blood of people they are thriving on. It’s sick and sad.”
“Wow, you really are serious. You are not at all into this for gain.”
They strolled down a long sidewalk that led them to a grim, industrial-looking strip just outside campus. Hope said, “I am. Robert, my stepdad, is a CEO, and I used to sit and listen to him talk about all the ways he could line his and the company’s pockets. I used to ask, ‘but what about the people who have to pay for that stuff?’ ”
Jackson realized something then. Her loathing of people in it just for the money stemmed from her childhood and that her childhood had been far from happy. She had grown up rich, yes, but she had not been happy.
He asked, gently, “What did he say?”
Hope said, “He said he would never meet them, and he did not care to.”
Ouch. Hope tugged his hand and said, “There it is.”
He stared at the building with some interest. No wonder they called it The Pit. It sat smack in the middle of a low building with corrugated steel siding and a low roof. The windows were large and wide and showed a huge amount of people jammed into the place. Hope pushed the door open, and they walked into the scent of tomato sauce and garlic, fresh baked dough and spilled beer.
The place was packed, but they got a table near the wall, just beyond the dance floor on one side and the pool tables on the other. The noise was terrific, but the corner they sat in was quiet enough that they could talk without shouting if they sat close together.
The darkness, the closeness of their bodies, and the pitcher of beer and the two glasses the server brought gave the whole thing a sort of intimacy. What was more, Jackson felt comfortable there.
“I like this place,” he said with a grin.
Hope laughed and sipped beer. When she set the mug down, there was a foam mustache above her lip, which she licked away with a sensual swipe of her tongue, a gesture that made his heart hammer hard in his chest and his dick wake up and poke its head up just a bit.
Hope said, “Yeah, me too. I hate to tell you this, but I am never going to be the fancy dinner and all the trimmings kind of girl.”
“Good to know.” He laughed at that. “I’m not into that either.”
She paused for a minute. Then she said, “Jackson, look. I like you, and I like hanging out with you, but you have to know that the last thing I need in my life right now is someone who values everything with dollar signs. I thought that was how you were, and I can see I am wrong, or I think I am wrong about that. I hope I am wrong about that. Still, if you are looking for the woman who will always be just as rich and successful as you are, then I’m not her. I don’t have a trust fund, and I am not living off my parent’s money. I told you before I’m broke, and honestly I am. I get my housing and a small salary every year, but that is it.”
The words offended him, but he bit back the reply that wanted to come. He recalled her words during the walk and the bitterness in her voice when she spoke about her stepdad. There was some serious tension there, and he was willing to bet that that tension went way deeper than he thought.
Did her sister have a trust fund? He was sure she most likely did. He also did not doubt that if Hope had even been offered one, and he doubted that she had been, that she would have said no to that money.
Her words had offended him because he liked her, and he didn’t care what she had, but he could see why she had said that.
He said, “Okay. Hope, I made a lot of fucking money. It was kind of accidental, you know, at least the first time around. Ashton and I made up the app one night when we were drunk and we had both struck out at the club. We were bored and young and stupid. I always wanted to design video games, and the money I made off the app let me do that. Now that I have…well, I am even richer.
“But I don’t count myself successful because I made money. I count myself successful because back when I was a kid, everyone told me I was out of my mind. They all told me to take shop classes or some shit – do something that would help me get a job.
“My folks were college educated, in case I didn’t mention it, and I knew that having a degree did not mean I would automatically be granted a pass out of the old neighborhood. I wanted to do something nobody else had, or at least something nobody I knew had ever done. I did that, and that is why I consider myself a success, not because I happened to get rich along the way.”
Their pizza, a thick, bubbling pie, laden with four cheeses and a spicy smelling sauce, came just then, saving him from having to say anything else. Hope took up one of the paper plates on the pile and waved it over the pie, trying to cool it. She looked into his eyes.
“Thanks for telling me that.”
He nodded and leaned into her. His leg and side pressed against hers. The warm and ripe curve of her breast met his arm, and desire leaped into being all over again.
“Why video games? I asked you before, but you never said.” She waved the plate over the pizza again, and the fragrant aroma rose higher on a curl of steam, making his mouth water.
“I needed them.”
She stopped trying to cool the pizza. “Say what?”
“Things were not all that awesome when I was a kid
. I mean, I had it way better than a lot of kids in my hood. I had two parents and a house that we had always lived in. We always had food on the table and lights on, but…”
He stopped there. He was not ready to tell her about his folks. They had been addicts, but highly-functioning addicts, and the strangeness of their lives had been reinforced by their need to always pretend that things were normal. Jackson had been forced to keep those secrets too, and as a result, he had not been able to talk to the kids who would understand because their own folks were also addicts. Nor had he been able to reconcile his mom or dad with the other shambling and burned-out wrecks of humanity he saw selling themselves, stolen goods, or drugs on the streets of his hood.
Her hand found his and squeezed it. He gave her a smile. The warm pressure of her fingers had snapped him out of those particularly depressing thoughts at least.
He said, “I was kind of a nerd and I got picked on a lot. Not like teasing and that kind of thing, like the shit kicked out of me kind of thing. There were a lot of other things, too. Anyway, until Ashton moved in and decided to be my friend, I didn’t really have a friend. So, I played video games. I also designed them in my head and used whatever I could find to build them, too. For me, it was all about escape. I know you think that they are a huge waste of time, but for real, if I had not had them, I would have probably lost my mind.”
Hope sat back in the chair, her eyes fastened on his face. “I didn’t realize that video games offer that for kids. I always read books to get away.”
“Oh yeah?” Eager to get the limelight off himself, he asked, “What kind of books?”
“Oh, anything I could get my hands on. Our housekeeper loved those trashy romance novels – you know the kind where a guy in tights sweeps a lady of the court off her feet only to reveal later on that he is not, in fact, a highwayman but a lord of the realm.”
Jackson knew his face showed his horror before Hope burst into long and loud laughter. He said, “Well, okay then.”
Hope kept laughing. She put a piece of pizza onto a plate and slid it neatly in front of him, and then she took a large slice and bit into it. Jackson tried his pizza and found it a delicious mess of gooey, melted cheese and herbs, thin and crispy crust with a little bit of chew to it and a sauce that had some sort of smoked pepper at its base.
They ate slowly, letting the moment draw out. They were just enjoying each other’s company and the time they were spending together. Jackson had never found himself wanting to spend a lot of time with anyone before, but Hope was endlessly fascinating, and he could talk to her.
When their meal was over, they walked back out into the night. The temperature had dropped yet again, and they walked fast, skirting past couples strolling slowly and clots of drunken college students reeling their way back to their dorms.
Jackson said, “This takes me back to when I was in college.”
Hope asked, “Where did you go?”
“MIT.”
Her mouth hung open. He burst into laughter. “What?”
“You went to MIT?’
“Yeah. Why?”
“Wow.”
Jackson laughed again. “It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, for real.”
“I bet.” Hope shook her head. “That is impressive.”
“Yeah, if I ever have to get a real job I have that to put on my resume.”
Hope said, “True. Do you think you ever will get a real job?”
Jackson said, “Well, money is not a concern, but boredom is. To be honest, I sort of regret selling that platform I created.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It was my life’s goal, and once I was done with it, I just dropped it, you know? I wanted it to be this great big, shining achievement and it was, but when it came right down to it, I did not really have much interest in it once it was over.”
“I see.” Her voice held a low note.
He said, “I know how that sounds, but I think what happened is what happens any time someone fulfills a dream. I got left there with nothing left to accomplish. That sucked. I just feel like I’m sort of hanging around with nothing to want anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true. This thing, this program I want to build for you, it matters to me.”
“I’m glad.”
He was too. They reached her building, and she asked, “Would you like to come up?”
He looked from her face to the building, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I would love to.”
“HOLY SHIT, IT WORKS!” Randy, one of Hope’s interns, stared at the screen as numbers and code scrawled across it. He pointed to a spot on the screen and said, “Look, it is not only feeding the data in and separating it, it is actually giving us predictors.”
Hope clapped her hands, her joy overriding her usual calm. The program was working just like Jackson had said it would!
It had taken him three weeks to build it and get the bugs out of it. The weeks had gone by with the two of them spending a lot of time together not just for the program’s sake, but for the sake of the budding relationship building between them.
Jackson was a great guy, and Hope liked him a lot. He was brilliant under that arrogant demeanor. He was also kind and thoughtful, and he had a dry, sharp wit that constantly amused her.
The program scrolled up more data, and she asked, “Can you start feeding today’s results in and see what happens?”
Randy nodded, “Can do. I think this is it Hope; this is exactly what we needed to impress the grant boards.”
Hope really wished that was true. It had to be enough because it was all they had. Her research had never really been a high priority thing in a world riddled by disease and death. Most people gave up on the comatose, and she knew it. This was research that had been put on the back-burner over and over again, and if she did not get that grant, she would be forced to look for private investors, which meant leaving her campus-affiliated position and working for a pharmaceutical company that wanted to make money off the deal.
Her stomach knotted as she watched the data being processed and more predictors coming up.
She said, “You know, if this keeps up we might be able to start using the patients in the way we wanted to use them.”
Randy knew that was also a sore point for her. Up until now, they had only been allowed to use rats that had been put into medically-induced comas, and he knew just as well as she did that what they needed was a human subject.
Hope said, “I have to get out of here. Can you put all this on a flash drive for me to take to the board meeting tomorrow?”
Randy nodded. “Sure. Anything else you need done right now?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
She ducked out of the lab, hurrying now. Jackson was meeting her at her place in less than an hour to go to dinner at her parents’ house, and her nerves were already stretched to the breaking point.
She had asked Jackson to go, but now she sort of wished she had not. The phone call from her mother a few days before had been filled with the usual conversations about Clara’s nabbing of a big account – one bigger than even the biggest account held by the most senior person in her firm – and Robert’s latest takeovers. The occasional prodding question about Hope’s working life had left her feeling raw and vulnerable, so she had blurted out that she was bringing a date.
She knew if there was any one thing Robert would approve of, it would be Jackson. Why would he not approve of him? He was richer than anyone in their circles, he was handsome, and he was an MIT grad. So maybe he would be a sort of shield to get her through dinner.
Asking him to go had been a selfish thing, and she walked faster along the campus, praying that the evening would end mercifully quick and without the usual bloodshed.
She showered and dressed in a nice dress, brushed her hair until it snapped and shone, then put it into a neat twist low on her neck. She put on a bit of lipstick and mascara and checked her nails.
A
s usual, she needed a manicure. She did the best she could with a file and cuticle cutters and a buffer then called it a day. Clarissa, her mother, would notice immediately that the manicure was not professionally done, but unless, provoked she would likely not say anything.
“Good thing I chose closed-toe shoes,” Hope muttered as she paced nervously along the confines of her living room. “God knows I need a pedicure.”
She really did. She kept her toenails painted and trimmed, but she could use a good pedi, and she knew it. Just one more thing she never had the time or money for.
She always made time for Jackson though.
That stopped her in her tracks.
She had been making time for him, something she simply had never done before. Most guys were put off by her work, the hours she kept in the lab, and the often absentmindedness that hit her when she was struck with an idea that she had to puzzle out in her brain.
Jackson was willing to put up with all of that. He was willing to meet her at odd times and to not see her for a few days at a time when things were going full circuit at the labs and she was caught up in something.
He was a prize, and she was lucky to have him.
But for how long?
Eventually, he was bound to want more and she was not sure if she would ever have it to give to him. If she hit a major breakthrough, her working life would only get more hectic and she would have no time at all for him. No guy was going to sit on the sidelines and wait it out, not when the waiting could be that long.
Jackson was gorgeous, and he was rich. He was every girl’s dream date, and that was before they got to know him as a person. He would have no trouble at all filling the hole she would leave behind.
The doorbell rang. Hope stood there, shaking. She did not want to lose him.
That thought careened around her skull, screaming against the sides of her brain and echoing all the way down to her heart. She did not want to lose Jackson. She wanted to be with him in every way, but if it came down to it, she was going to have to choose between him and the research that meant so much to her.
